


Five Press Conferences, One Question

by Selenay



Category: Cornetto "40 - love" Commercial
Genre: 5 Things, Developing Relationship, F/F, Press Conferences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 07:56:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2843756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selenay/pseuds/Selenay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Have you spoken to That Line Umpire?" floated out from somewhere in the middle of the press throng.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Press Conferences, One Question

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moriann](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moriann/gifts).



> I saw the press conference prompt, and I couldn't resist. Happy Holidays!
> 
> Thank you to the fantastic B for last minute beta duties :-)

### 1\. April (Charleston)

"Have you spoken to That Line Umpire?" someone in the second row called out.

Maria couldn't see who had asked, everyone was moving around too much, but the voice sounded familiar. He was probably from one of the big US sports networks.

She pasted on the politest smile she could pull out of her repertoire. "Yes. We've talked."

"Did you apologise?"

Maria shrugged. "They usually duck."

The room went into an uproar, and Maria sighed. Her manager would kill her if she lost any contracts by being flippant about something people seemed to care about intensely, even if they had a strange way of showing they cared. She'd seen the meme. It was a cruel way to care.

Debbie would laugh about her comment, but nobody else knew that. Even a couple of days ago, Maria hadn't known that. She hadn't known Debbie any more than the vultures pointing cameras at her. Hadn't known that shy smile, or the way her eyes lit up when she laughed, or how soft her lips were.

Maria straightened her shoulders. "I'm sorry, that was rude. We've talked, and we've come to an understanding about it. She's been very gracious. Now, doesn't anyone want to ask me about my serve?"

### 2\. May (Rome)

"Have you spoken to That Line Umpire?" floated out from somewhere in the middle of the press throng.

Maria tried to peer past the lights shining in her face, but she couldn't see anything out there. The voice had an Italian accent, though, so she probably worked for one of the local TV stations covering the tournament.

It was a good question, although probably not for the reasons the reporter thought. Maria hadn't spoken to Debbie for two days, and she was missing Debbie more than she'd realised she could. They'd been sort of seeing each other, kind of, for a month. If seeing each other meant texts and emails and phone calls, but never being in the same city. She'd kissed Debbie twice and the memory of it was starting to feel as unreal as everything else about that tournament.

Maria had lived half her life in a confusion of time zones, but it had never seemed to matter until she had someone she wanted to see, who lived in one time zone, and they couldn't make it work out. Couldn't get the six hours of difference to add up to a time when they'd be able to spend ten minutes on the phone together.

She glanced down at her watch, noting the time and automatically subtracting, trying to place it on her mental map of where Debbie might be. All of those texts and emails had taught her what Debbie schedule was like--busy, mostly, but there were gaps--and if she'd done the math right, then Debbie would be taking her lunch break soon.

Maria flashed the press her best smile. "Yes, we've talked. We came to an understanding over it and it's behind us now. She's been very kind."

Her heart sank slightly when a raucous babble of voices shouted out more questions, but this was the media game she had to play. Maybe if she answered everything very fast, no flippant answers, she'd get out with enough time to call Debbie before they both got pulled away to other duties.

### 3\. June (Eastbourne)

"Have you spoken to That Line Umpire since the tournament?"

At least the question, this time, didn't sound accusatory. Maria couldn't decide whether that was because the British press were too polite--unlikely, after they'd torn so many other players apart--or if someone out there was actually thinking about what they asked before they asked it. It would make a change.

She smiled. "Yes, we've spoken."

They'd talked last night. She'd fallen asleep with Debbie's voice in her ear, describing the graffiti on her newest poster on the bus (a crude drawing of a cigar, and wasn't that ironic?) and laughing at the latest iteration of Debbie's meme. Maria knew how embarrassed Debbie felt each time the meme found a new form to bite her with, even after so many weeks, and she hated hearing it in Debbie's voice. She always tried to find a way to make Debbie laugh about it.

She'd taken a picture of herself before she got out of bed earlier, hair a rat's nest of tangles and eyes bleary, and sent it to Debbie to wake up to. For some reason, Debbie thought Maria looked beautiful in the morning.

"Can you tell us what you've talked about?" the reporter asked, and Maria blinked.

Nobody ever asked that.

She opened her mouth to respond with something flippant and quick, out of habit, but the words wouldn't come. They stuck behind her teeth and tangled there, stubbornly refusing to be set free.

Fake camera shutters clicked. The lights were hot.

Maria forced herself to smile, and didn't look at the place where her manager was standing to one side, glaring at her. "We discussed her favourite pancake toppings."

There was deathly silence in the room, before an explosion of questions hurtled at Maria with a force that almost rocked her back in her chair.

She held up her hands in a quelling gesture, and the smile came more easily. "She was gracious about what happened, and we've become...friends, I guess. Doesn't anyone want to ask me about the match?"

"How did you learn to avoid hitting line umpires?"

Maria barely resisted the urge to pound her head against the table.

### 4\. July (Wimbledon)

"Have you talked to That Line Umpire? Is she working here?"

Maria tilted her head, trying to figure out whether the reporter was really serious, or just messing with her head.

It was probably even odds at this point.

She smiled. "We've spoken and we're still not planning to sue each other for the Ball Incident. Thank you."

They had actually managed to spend an entire hour on Skype yesterday, an almost unheard of treat during a tournament. Maria hadn't deliberately gone through her quarter final in record breaking time--nobody ever set out to do that--but the prospect of having a rest day if she finished before dusk focused her mind more than usual. 

The hour on Skype, seeing Debbie as well as hearing her, had been the best hour of Maria's Wimbledon so far. And that included her record breaking match.

"Does she prefer syrup or butter?" someone asked.

Maria blinked. "Um."

Several people stepped to the side so that a woman reporter from a magazine Maria didn't recognise could smile at her. "On her pancakes, does she prefer syrup or butter? Or does she eat them English-style, with lemon and sugar?"

Before Maria could second-guess her answer, words tumbled out. "Syrup, but only if it's real maple syrup, not the flavoured stuff."

The press room went ballistic.

### 5\. August (Montreal)

"Have you talked to That Line Umpire?"

Maria rested her chin on Debbie's shoulder, watching the press conference playing on the TV across the bedroom. "So, did I talk to you?"

Debbie turned her head, a smile already curving her lips. "I do remember some talking."

That expression was too tempting to resist, and Maria didn't have to anymore. She rolled them both, pulling the sheet up over their heads as she did, and stretched up to swallow Debbie's startled "oof" in a kiss. Debbie's lips were still soft, tasting of mint, and she melted into the kiss with gratifying easiness. With the sheet tented over them, Maria could almost believe that nobody else existed out there. That the press were a myth and the ridiculous questions would stop, and she could just be here, kissing Debbie, forever.

"What did you tell them?" Debbie whispered against her lips.

Maria smiled, stroking a hand slowly up Debbie's back just to feel her shiver. "I told them that I talked to you this morning, over breakfast, and I was probably going to talk to you again as soon as the conference was over."

Debbie stared down at her, shy warmth in her eyes. "You did not."

"It's the truth," Maria said.

"Oh."

Somewhere far away, the tinny sound of a press room in uproar floated out through the TV speakers. Maria and Debbie didn't hear it. They had more important things on their minds.


End file.
